


The Heart Sees Rightly

by Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Courtship, Daemons, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6332506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/pseuds/Zoi%20no%20miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold Finch's daemon is far more fitting than John Reese could have ever imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You can call me Mr. Finch," says the small, spectacled man who has taken it upon himself to be John's rescuer.

A gray shadow at John's side, Valere gives a soft huff of amusement. John holds in his own laugh, instead regarding again the small songbird that sits on the man's shoulder - a nondescript brown apart from a soft orange patch at the beak, black bands on her tail and small white mottled spots on the warm brown under her wings. "Well that's fitting. Shall I call myself Mr. Wolf?"

Finch smiles more easily than John had expected. "You can call yourself whatever you like, Mr. Reese. Come work for me."

Her name is Athenea, John learns once he'd accedes to the man's request. She doesn't speak often, at least when John is around, and that doesn't surprise him. Finch is, as he says, a Very Private Person. But she's always watching him and Valere, black bird-eyes bright and intelligent, completely aware even as Finch disappears into the computer.

John's always been wary of small daemons. Too easy to overlook them, too easy to underestimate their humans. But he can't help but feel respect for this strange man who's hired him, who's given him something to do with his life to distract from memories of Jessica and how perfect it had felt when she'd stroked her fingers slowly through Valere's grey fur. And Valere defers to Athenea, respectful without comment, so John makes himself let down his guard, pushing away the instinct to always locate her, to stay aware and wary.

In time it becomes almost comforting, to find Athenea watching him. There's more casual curiosity in her gaze than distrust. John can work with that. 

As he begins to adjust to working with Finch, John finds himself thinking her charming. Despite Finch's insistence on privacy, he can't hide the identity of his daemon. From the way Finch acts, John would have expected a cat, or an owl, or perhaps something even more exotic, clever and dangerous like a monkey. But while Finch may appear a guarded, tech-obsessed anchorite, he can't completely hide the sweet spark of life and colour that flits about the library. 

He tries to ignore what that means, of course. Pushes away the knowledge that since Althenea is a reflection of Harold, the affection he feels is towards both of them. Doesn't think about the fact that he's started thinking of him as _Harold_.

Then, one morning when they arrive in the Library to find Finch asleep at his desk, he watches Valere stretch her nose up to gently nuzzle the tiny bird awake where she sleeps on Finch's shoulder. John feels an aching rush of adoration clench tight at his heart, completely unwelcome, and curses himself for it.

Despite his better judgement, he feels far too much for this enigma of a man than he ever should have allowed himself to feel.


	2. Chapter 2

"Thank you, Mr. Reese, but I don't drink coffee." Harold's mind is already in a dozen places when John appears early one morning with a tray of coffee and a box of pastries, but one of which allows for a brief moment of pleasure at the other man's thoughtful attempt - certainly more thoughtful than any of his previous attempted partners.

"It's not coffee." John lifts one of the cups out of the tray and sets it in front of him, a smile playing about the corner of his mouth that seems entirely too pleased. "Tea. Sencha green, no sugar. That's what you prefer, isn't it?"

Harold should feel startled, worried that John has followed him, dug this up. But there's no maliciousness in John's gaze despite his smugness, and Valere's tail wags back and forth quickly over the floor where she sits on her haunches. He should feel angry, that John persists in his attempts to invade his privacy.

Perhaps it was a mistake to choose a partner with such lovely eyes.

"Thank you, Mr. Reese." Harold smiles despite himself and takes the tea, taking a sip. Athenea hops down off his arm as he does, perching on the edge of the desk to look down at Valere. She says nothing, but Harold can feel her approval.

"It's not a terrible thing to find him beautiful," she says to him much later, when they're working alone.

Harold frowns, focusing on the lines of code on the screen of his ordinator. "It's certainly an unwise thing. We can't permit any distractions from our mission."

Athenea sighs, hopping up to perch on his collar, her feathered head soft as she nuzzles it against his neck. "You need to stop blaming yourself for what happened to Nathan and Lajardis, my love."

Harold's throat clenches on a rush of pain; he pulls his hands from the keyboard to clench them into fists. "You know I can never do that."

"Even if he wouldn't want you to?"

The moment is permanently etched into his mind - Nathan on that table surrounded by tubes and wires and doctors and alarms. Lajardis a crumpled mountain of fur on the floor near him. How the great grizzly had shuddered so terribly as Nathan had breathed his last, then dissolved into nothingness. "If I hadn't been so distracted with Grace I would have seen what he was doing. Nathan's dead, and all I did was hurt Grace and Anatolis by letting them believe we'd died, and I - "

"Shhh," Athenea murmurs, continuing to nuzzle him, and Harold swallows at the lump of pain that blocks his words. He longs for the days of his youth when he could cuddle her close as a cat or a rabbit and bury his face in the comfort of her fur. "You carry the pain of the world on your shoulders, my love," she murmurs, soft and soothing. "He carries the same. You know that kind of burden will be made easier for you both when shared."

He knows that her words are his own logic and rationalizations. The part of him that so badly needs this connection, longs for that kind of connection in the midst of all this pain. But he can't bring himself to vocalize it, even to himself, so he says nothing and goes back to work.

A night of successful research, a full five hours of sleep in the downstairs safe room Mr. Dillinger had once helped him set up, and the resolution of their number's problems without bloodshed the next day helps lift his spirits significantly. He feels light enough that he's distracted by thoughts of John as they clear off the work board together and debrief, by thoughts of how nice it would be to step closer, to feel his touch.....

John's words trail off mid-sentence, and he turns to look to where Valere has sprawled on the couch, her chin on her forelegs. Harold's pulse starts to race, his whole body going cold as he realizes that Athenea has landed on top of her paws as well, feathers fluffed up and eyes closed in complete contentment as she nestles into Valere's coarse fur.

"Mr. Reese, please excuse me, I - "

"It's alright, Harold." John's low voice is velvety calm, and the fact that Valere simply closes her eyes and makes no move to dislodge his daemon helps calm Harold's spike of panic. Then John steps closer, lifting a hand, slow and deliberate, to press lightly against the small of Harold's back. His eyes hold Harold's, gray and warm and perhaps a little... hopeful? "Is this alright?"

Harold's heart races for a completely different reason. "Yes," he manages, the word half-croaked from a dry throat. He watches John smile, soft and sweet, stepping into him more, wrapping his arm around his waist. It feels better than good, so he chooses to ignore the distinct feeling of smugness he can feel from Athenea, instead leaning into the warmth of John's body, reveling in the quiet security of the moment.

~~~


	3. Chapter 3

John knows that he needs to be careful, cautious with this new whatever-it-is that might be happening between him and Harold. He knows that Harold is as skittish as his beautiful little songbird reveals, that something about the man's nature or perhaps his past has left him tentative, easy to startle. The last thing he wants is for Harold to pull away, to have any reason to feel afraid of him when John already knows he would sacrifice anything and everything to keep this precious man safe.

Goodness knows he doesn't deserve Harold's affection. He'd made a valiant attempt to convince himself that the other man had no interest in such a thing, despite Valere's arguments to the contrary. But seeing Athenea curl up with Valere with such trust and open vulnerability... seeing the same vulnerability in Harold's gaze as he stammered his apologies, and a quiet, desperate need for connection... how could he deny or resist that? Especially when he wants it so badly himself, despite his attempts at better judgement.

So he lets himself indulge, keeping his overtures small and cautious and still oh so wonderful. Feeling Harold relax against him that first night in the Library had been beyond wonderful, just holding him close as they quietly continued discussing the day's activities. Letting his face rest against Harold's hair as the other man nestled his head against John's shoulder. Feeling the tension slowly leave Harold's form.

"Thank you for this, Mr. Reese," Harold says when he finally pulls back. He looks up at him, eyebrows knitting together slightly above the frame of his glasses, as if he wants to say something and isn't quite sure how.

Call me John, John wants to say. But that will come in time. As long as he's gentle and cautious he's certain that he'll gradually be able to coax Harold from his shell, to show the man that he he can open up to John, trust him and let him into his life without fear. He has to believe that. Why else would his daemon have invited this closeness by offering her sweet companionship to Valere?

So instead John lets his hand cup Harold's shoulder, rubbing his skin through his suit with his thumb. He revels in being allowed to, in how very much he wants to lean in and kiss him and the idea that sometime perhaps he will be able to. "Anytime?" He offers instead, with a small smile.

Warmth rushes through him as the smile is returned, the worry in Harold's expression dissolving. "Yes," he replies, and finds John's hand with his own for a brief, rewarding squeeze.

"I told you so," Valere says as they leave the library, and John is too happy to feel annoyed with her, reaching down to stroke his fingers affectionately through her thick fur.

He lets his arm rest on the back of Harold's chair the next morning, inviting but hopefully unassuming. Athenea immediately leaves her perch on Harold's shoulder, but it's only to wing over to perch on Valere's head, and Harold leans back into the invitation, quietly exhaling as he rolls his shoulders back into the contact. 

After that John lets himself touch freely, continuing his gradual wooing of Harold Finch. Despite how much he longs to pull Harold into his arms and kiss away every bit of his partner's remembered pain, he doesn't find it frustrating. It's intensely pleasurable just to rest a hand on Harold's back when they're together, or an arm across his shoulders, sometimes gently rubbing at the tense muscles of his neck. To feel Valere's pleasure as the little songbird cuddles up to her more and more. And in return Harold catches his hand whenever they part, squeezing gently, holding his gaze for just a moment, tender and imploring.

"Be careful, Mr. Reese."

"I will," he replies, a promise for so much more than just the mission.

He needs to keep himself safe for Harold, now. He's never outright reckless with his own safety, of course, even in the moments when the darkness of his past threatens to overwhelm everything he knows. He's too well trained, and self preservation is instinctual out of necessity. But he's always entertained the possibility that someday he might go out in a blaze of self-sacrificial glory. A noble end to make up for all that he's done. Now the idea only seems noble if the sacrifice is for Harold's sake.

It settles his heart more than anything ever has. This idea, this feeling of being completely devoted to Harold's service and safety, like a knight of old to his lord. To a lord completely deserving of it, because despite all of Harold's secrets, John is certain that this is a man that the world can't afford to lose. Devoting his life to ensure that never happens is an easy, freeing decision.

It's a decision that sends a spike of panic through him when he breaks into NYPD Evidence lock-up with Joey Durban's gang and finds Harold already there, cowering into the nook underneath the front counter, exposed and completely unprotected to the unpredictable brutality of the men he's undercover with.

Then his eyes focus on the bird that Harold's half-covering protectively with one arm. Large, black and white, and _not Athenea_.

His mind can't process what he's seeing, and for a split second he wonders if this is even Harold and not some impossible doppelganger or secret identical twin Harold's been hiding from him. But of course it's Harold, and of course it's Athenea. But she's changed her form, an impossibility for an adult daemon.

It should be an impossibility. But he's only surprised for a moment. Harold, of all people, could find a way to attain the impossible.

An eternally unsettled daemon.

Somehow the knowledge of such a thing is a bigger betrayal than John had ever thought possible.

If Valere had been at his side it might have been easier to process, but she's up in the van with Durban's Doberman, both daemons too big and distinctive to be able to follow them without risking their identities. The distance between them makes his skin crawl. The combination of that and Athena's secret throws him off his game long enough that he almost misses Harold's queue, almost misses the precious message that Harold has stupidly risked his safety for: he and the number are about to be double crossed. But that's enough to shift his full attention back to the mission, to compartmentalize and push away the hurt and betrayal.

Get the job done. Nurse your hurt afterwards.

"I'm sorry about today," Harold says softly, when they're back at the library. Athenea, back to being a zebra finch, shifts skittishly on his shoulder.

John tries to ignore the anxiety and open vulnerability on Harold's expression. Part of him wants to confront him, to lash out in anger at Harold's for keeping something so important from him. It's easier to focus on the mission. "Putting yourself in danger was a mistake. Don't do it again."

There's a brief flash of hurt in Harold's expression. Then the shutters go up, hiding away all the careful trust that he's been trying to cultivate. It makes John angrier, because what use is even trying if Harold is going to keep something this monumental from him?

"The gains outweighed the risk to my safety," he replies, looking away, body stiff and tense.

"You could have died!"

"And you most definitely would have!"

"I had things under control," John returns, angrier at the insinuation.

Harold gives a sharp shake of his head, lips pinched tight. "It was my call to make, Mr. Reese."

"Just like it was your call to withhold information from me?" The words are out of his mouth before he can still them, and he completely ignores Valere's warning growl and her tug at his pant leg. "What the hell, Harold? How the hell has your daemon not settled? How the hell could you think I didn't need to know something like that?"

He steps into Harold's space, but the other man doesn't shrink away, instead squaring his shoulders, pulling himself up taller. "I told you that I'm a private person, Mr. Reese. I'll tell you what you need to know. I'm sorry if you can't accept that!"

It's an anger he's never seen in Harold, and he half expects Athenea to turn into falcon and fly at Valere where she growls at Johns ankles. "I need to know these things to keep you safe!"

"Keeping me safe is not your job, Mr. Reese!"

His job. Of course. That's all this is. But the words are still like a punch to the gut. He turns, stalking towards the stairs. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow, Finch."

"Mr. Reese - "

He ignores the rather stricken look on Harold's face, instead barking an order to Valere, who still stands between them. "Valere! Come!" Ignoring her angry huff, he storms down the stairs and from the building, giving her no choice but to follow, though she waits until the distance between them starts to hurt before finally doing so.

"You shouldn't have been so hard on him," she growls as she catches up to him on the sidewalk. "He - "

"He lied," John hisses. "You didn't see them. She was a magpie, Valere! A corvid's a hell of a lot different than a goddamn finch! And if that was a lie than what the hell do we know about him? Nothing!"

And that's the real reason for his anger, he realizes as he says it, and anger turns to hurt so fast that he has to stop, to force himself to breathe past the ache in his throat. It was Athenea who had given him the courage to finally act, how she'd sweetly offered her vulnerability to Valere. Like he longed to see Harold do. He thought it had been a gift, one of the few things Harold had allowed him to know of him. But it was a lie. What use were any of his efforts to get close to Harold if the man refused to give him any kind of trust? And why the hell did it hurt so much that he'd failed?

"I know," Valere says softly, nuzzling his hand. "I know, John. I love them, too."


	4. Chapter 4

John brings Harold tea, the next time they meet, all of his anger gone. But he displays none of the beautiful, casual familiarity he'd invited before, his manner quietly resigned. Cold.

Harold can feel the absence of John's hand on his shoulder as vividly as he'd ever felt its presence, and its absence brings nothing but sorrow and regret.

"You shouldn't have been so angry with him," Athenea says quietly when they're alone, perching on his wrist to look up at him.

"You may be right about that," Harold replies, and looks away from the only part of him that ever deserved John's affection. "But it's for the best. It was a mistake to think I could let myself be close to him without threatening his safety."

Athenea drops her head, echoing his sorrow. Then she makes an attempt at hopefulness. "But maybe this time... he's different, Harold. Maybe things could be different."

For a moment Harold lets himself consider it, tries to examine her words, to divorce logic from emotion. There are so many things in John Reese that he had loved dearly in Grace and Nathan both. Bravery, steadfastness, a fierce protectiveness and gentle compassion. And all of it is wrapped up in a highly trained, incredibly proficient package.

"We chose him because he's different," Athenea murmurs. "Maybe...."

But all he can see is Lajardis, disappearing to nothing as if she'd never been there at all, as if he'd never stroked his fingers through her thick, sleek fur, never felt the reassuring thrum of her heartbeat....

"I can't survive another heartbreak," he whispers, and pushes the possibility of it firmly out of his mind.

Still, part of him wishes John would say something. Would mention Athenea's strange ability again, or be angry over it, over anything. Wishes that John would give him some cue so that he could release the apology that sits in his heart like granite, scraping into the tender muscle every time he breathes.

John says nothing.

It's for the best, Harold tells himself, and accepts that this heartbreak as deserved, like all the other pain he's caused.

~~~

There's part of John that wants to see Harold angry with him again, or unhappy with him. Wants to have some reason to beg his forgiveness, to somehow go back to the way things were. Longs to see Athenea reach out to Valere again, to invite that beautiful closeness so that he can draw Harold close and tell them that he's sorry for lashing out so stupidly.

But Harold is none of that, once again calm and coldly formal like he had been when they'd met, and John forces himself back to the same professionalism. It's better that way, he tries to tell himself. He can't afford to be distracted. And if Athenea has become quiet and still, the loss of her vibrance is certainly none of his concern.

In time, he's able to funnel the hurt into quiet acceptance, most of the time. He's always known that he'll always be alone, and any attempt to change that has always been nothing but a fool's errand. Thinking that he could somehow earn, or even deserve the love of this amazing, compassionate man was as ridiculous as believing that he could be happy with Jessica.

Still, sometimes he can't help but think back to the way it had felt when Valere had cuddled close to her, let Jessica stroke wondering, reverent fingers through her fur. And when he dreams of her now sometimes he turns to find Harold in her place, perched in his chair in the library in those neat suits with Valere's head on his knee, stroking nimble fingers over her skull and along the backs of her ears.

It seems especially cruel that the loss of what might have been hurts worse than the loss of what was. But John is used to pain.

John is used to pain, and the pain of Carter betraying him to his old grinds at the CIA is just another scratch, just like the bullets that rip through him. He doesn't give up - that trained, ingrained drive for self preservation is just too strong - but he doesn't fear the end. He's only been living on borrowed time, it's inevitable that they'd track him down and finish the job. At least he'd been able to avenge Jessica. Maybe even help a few people. At least he'd been able to...

... to meet Harold.

Then he hears Harold's panicked voice on the other end of the phone, jarring him from death's siren call. Desperate pleas, begging him not to give up. It's enough, because no matter how much he's been hurt, the thought of hurting Harold again is still one that he can't stand.

He staggers out of the building and into the warmth of Harold's embrace, and part of him wants nothing more than to hold tight until the world disappears around him. But then he sees a flutter of feathers, sees Athenea - again the black and white corvid - seconds before Carter's dutch shepherd bursts from the building. The smaller daemon pushes himself under Valere, supporting her as she staggers after John to the car, as Carter and Harold bundle him inside. He feels the softness of feathers push up against his neck, bringing with it a rush of love - a love that is overwhelmingly sorrowful, a love that is and stalwartly determined, and a love so desperately afraid of loss that for a moment John can't feel anything else.

I won't leave you, he wants to say, and thinks it as hard as he can, again and again. Clinging to that, to the feel of Athenea pressed close.

Clinging to life.

~~~

John wakes up to the fuzziness of drugs and the beep of a monitor, to soft light filtered through blinds, to Valere asleep across the foot of his bed. The pain of his wounds has faded to a dull ache, but as he moves he feels the shift of something soft against his neck, and suddenly that incredible connection he'd felt all comes rushing back.

Harold's heart, as trembling and vulnerable as his tiny daemon, feeling so much and so intensely that John's not quite sure how one man can contain it. It's enough that he can barely breathe - this overwhelming feeling of love and pain that is Harold, this loneliness and longing. He'd never dared to touch Jessica's sweet little spaniel, Ahrown, though part of him had hoped to, at one point of his life. Feeling Athenea now, feeling Harold give him so much, freely and unasked for....

John's eyes burn, and he tries to speak past the rock in his throat. "Harold...."

"John!" Harold's been perched on a chair, hunched over the side of the bed, obviously haven fallen asleep in the most terrible, cramped position. Athenea, a zebra finch again, moves away from John's neck as Harold straightens, but not fast enough to prevent him from feeling the spike of pain that runs through the other man as his body stiffly tries to move. 

"Careful - " Immediately John reaches out to him, touching his shoulder, trying to rub the pain from the back of his neck. He feels weak - from the injury, from the weight of his mistakes - and wishes he could somehow smooth away all his pain that he's caused. Still, it feels good to touch Harold, the warm physicality of his body an anchor after the maelstrom of emotion that Athenea's made him privy to.

A soft, pained breath escapes Harold's lips, and he lets his head sag, leaning into the touch as John continues to rub his skin gently, pressing his fingers under his collar and into the too-tight trapezius muscle at his shoulder. Harold's voice is small, trembling. "I'm sorry I've kept you at arm's length, John."

"Shh...." How can he be angry, when Harold's given him so much, laid bare his heart to him? "It's alright."

"It's not." Harold straightens stiffly, pulling from his touch, but it's only to clasp John's hand in both of his. He lets the backs of John's fingers rest lightly against his cheek, which is uncharacteristically stubble-rough. How long has Harold sat by his side? He strokes his cheek gently with the back of his pointer finger and feels Harold's jaw clench under his touch. His eyes are bright when he looks up.

"I'm not private because I want to be," he says, soft and desperate. "It's a necessity, John. My love is lethal. I ruin everyone I care for. I couldn't - you've been so kind to me - "

You don't, John wants to argue, but bites it back. "I should have been kinder," he says instead, and Valere, awake now too, shifts on the end of the bed so that she's stretched out alongside his legs, almost touching Harold. He can feel her longing to reach farther, to feel Harold's fingers touch her with the same trembling devotion that he clasps John's hand with. He wishes he was brave enough to let her. "You deserve so much better than me."

"I don't deserve anything. Let alone you." Harold's eyebrows knit together in distress, but he still turns his face, lips trembling as they brush the backs of John's fingers. "But I... John... I don't want to lose you...."

His hands grip John's tighter, and John tries to squeeze back, heart aching to pull Harold to him, to reassure him with touch and words and kisses however he can. "I'll keep myself safe for you," he says softly. "As best I can, Harold. Never wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry I have."

Harold shakes his head again. Then he closes his eyes for a moment, drawing a soft breath as if for strength. "Could we... would you allow me...."

"Could we try again?" John supplies softly. He feels a wave of happiness from Valere.

Harold lets out his breath and nods, though his eyebrows are still furrowed in worry. "Can you forgive me what I cannot tell you?"

Part of him wants to breathe words of fealty, to promise that Harold can trust him, that he doesn't have to be so afraid anymore. To beg him to open up. But how can he begrudge Harold his secrets when the man has already given him the greatest trust possible, laid himself bare with the brush of a feather?

He looks to where Athenea is perched on the pillow by his shoulder, hovering anxiously. He aches to smooth her feathers, but makes himself hold back, fingers hovering inches away. He doesn't feel worthy to touch her again, but the look on Harold's face is so openly hopeful....

"May I?" He asks softly.

Harold swallows hard, gives a jerky nod, a gasp. "Please!"

John gives him a soft smile, wanting nothing more than to calm and reassure him. "Then there's nothing that needs forgiving," he says, and carefully strokes his fingertips over the curve of Athenea's small, soft form. 

He feels Harold's soft sob of happiness, feels the awareness of that aching, desperate love come rushing back. But he can feel hope in it now, bright and beautiful. He watches Harold nuzzle his fingers as Athenea presses up into his touch, the intimacy and adoration of both so overwhelming the he can barely speak despite aching to pull Harold close and whisper every promise of love in the world.

"Thank you," he whispers instead, and is rewarded by Harold's bright, trembling smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is probably a bit more empathetic than is canon, but I'm kind of an empathy whore so I couldn't resist. XD


	5. Chapter 5

The world feels too bright for days in the aftermath of letting John touch his soul. Letting? No - Athenea had pressed into him all on her own, his heart's panicked reaction to the sight of John bleeding out in front of him. To that agonizing, breakneck drive across town - faster, faster, not fast enough, not when John is dying - and his own desperate whispers to himself. John can't die, not this time, he can't let him die he can't - 

"Harold."

John's hand, pressed warm to the small of his back, jars him from the turmoil of his memories. The world around him sharpens momentarily, all hard edges and vibrant colours, then fades back to a softer, more endurable state. He sets aside the surveillance equipment he's been packing up and turns into him . "You should be resting."

"So should you." A small smile widens John's lips as his hand slides over the back of Harold's suit vest, arm encircling his waist. "Lily is safe and the day is won, Mr. Finch. We can take a moment."

The apartment he'd rented as a base of operations to surveil their number had come fully furnished, and John ignores his wheelchair in favor of the chesterfield. Relief sinks into Harold's bones as he lets himself down into the cushions beside him, reacting to the gentle tug of John's arm and cuddling against his shoulder. John's arm is strong around him, warmth seeping through his clothes, and part of Harold just wants to curl up into this safety and never think about anything else again.

Valere settles on the cushion beside John, stretching out to rest her head on John's lap. After a moment Athenea settles with her, perched on her shoulder, cuddling into her fur. It's soothing, after so long a day, a quiet balm to his frayed nerves and the ever-present ache in his spine. It feels... right.

John's lips brush his temple briefly, nuzzling his hair. "You did a pretty good job being me. Am I going to find myself out of a job?"

Harold snorts, small and amused. "Hardly. You are far too good at what you do for me to think that I could ever replace you."

He'd meant with himself, but John gives a soft, amused hum, arm tightening slightly around his waist. "Really? I'm sure you could find dozens of big strong men willing to come at your beck and call."

He's teasing, but there's an overwhelming sweetness in his words. Harold can't help but smile, reaching up to let himself touch, palm curling against the curve of John's jaw, thumb stroking his cheek. He means to tease back, but John's soft smile and the unfettered adoration in his warm gray eyes are so appealing, and it's been such a long day....

The rest of his tension melts from Harold's body as his thoughts quiet, and he leans in bring their mouths together, soft and slow.

He feels John's low, pleased hum as much as he hears it, feels John's fingers tighten on his waist as his other hand comes up to cup his face in return. John's lips are warm and lush against his, drawing him in with gentle yearning, and Harold lets the world fade around him. All that exists is the warmth of John's body against his, the sense of safety and security, of knowing that John will catch him without question if he falls, as long as he's at Harold's side. For a moment, the weight of the world fades away.

"I've wanted to do that for a very long time." John's fingers stroke to the back of his neck, rubbing gently at the eternally too-tight muscles, and Harold feels himself relax a little more.

"So have I," he admits, and kisses him again. A soft rush of desire strengthens in his core as John's lips part against his, as he lets the other man taste him. Wanting John has always been more about just simple desire, though. It feels good, to let down his barriers with someone. To trust that John's adoring gentleness will never hurt him. To relax and revel in the closeness he'd craved so badly and yet been afraid of for so long.

"She only changes when I need to change." The words leave his lips almost unbidden, with no effort at all. Harold closes his eyes and lets them continue, resting his forehead against John's. "I don't think either of us knew it could happen until it did. Until the first time I needed to hide, to put on the mask of someone else..." He'd been so young, then, the day he'd said goodbye to his father.... Harold's breath trembles as he sighs.

John makes a soft, soothing hum, fingers stroking through his hair. "We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to."

He's held so much secret for so long that the weight of it keeping it back suddenly feels unbearable. He rests his hand on John's chest to try and anchor himself. "The only person who knew, he... he was...." My best friend. My lover. My partner. The only person who's ever known everything and still tried to completely accept me. "He was very important to me. And he died because of me, because of my Machine. Please don't try to tell me that it's not my fault. Bad things happen to the people I allow close to me, John. I've lost everyone. So this is all there is to me now, just me and Athenea and the numbers."

Part of him expects John to argue with him, to try and tell him that he's not to blame for all these things that he's caused. Instead he's silent for a long moment, and when he draws back to look at him, his eyes speak more to sadness than pity. Sadness and understanding. "I was careless with the CIA. I'm sorry. I'll take better care. I want to be a part of this. And I want to be with you."

"Even if it gets us both killed?"

"I've always been willing to die for this cause, Harold. Living for it might be harder, but I'm willing to do that, too. If you'll allow me to be part of this with you."

How could John have ever gone undercover when there's so much honesty in him? He closes his eyes and cuddles closer to him, sighs as John presses a soft kiss to his forehead. "It's not too late for you, you know. You could still find a life somewhere."

"Maybe. But it wouldn't be nearly as exciting." John strokes a hand down his arm, twining their fingers together, for a moment just silent as the fingers of his other hand stroke gentle circles on the small of Harold's back. Then Valere shifts, stretching out more, her muzzle just brushing against Harold's pant leg.

Harold forgets how to breathe.

His pulse sounds loud in his ears in counterpoint to John's soft words. He guides their joined hands to hover over the warmth of his daemon, close enough that Harold can feel the tips of her fur against his palm. "I want to be here, Harold. I want to be with you. Please let me show you...."

He wants to. The invitation suddenly makes him crave it more than he'd ever thought possible. But how can he open himself to that heartbreak again? Can he bear to touch Valere, knowing that she'll disappear one day just like Lajardis, leave him even emptier than he was before she came into his life? Can he - 

Athenea lands on his shoulder, pushes against his neck. "Breathe," she murmurs, and Harold forces himself to, taking deep gulps to try and push away the panic.

John's fingers release his, stop their urging. "I'm sorry. Forget I asked," he mutters, and leans back into the couch. Valere draws back as well, her dark eyes liquid disappointment, and suddenly Harold realizes that as much panic as he'd felt at the thought of touching her, the thought of _not touching her_ is far worse.

"No," he says softly, looking up as John's eyes dart to him, both eager and afraid. He reaches for Valere, but he needs something to anchor him. So he leans in to press a soft, trembling kiss to John's lips, and as he does reaches down to carefully trace the tips of his fingers along the top of Valere's nose and over her skull.

For a moment all he can feel when he touches John's daemon is a turmoil of fear and hope. Then John's cupping his face, kissing him again, trembling as Valere pushes her head up against Harold's palm. He can feel how desperately John needs this, yearns for this with every fiber of his being, and the strength of John's love and longing and loneliness is so overwhelming that a soft sob escapes Harold's lips.

He pushes his fingers into the longer fur on Valere's neck, carding through it in a desperate need to be closer, to reassure him. How could he have thought that he was the only one feeling so alone? He feels a rush of shame at the realization, moving his free hand to cup John's hair, to stroke through the thick softness of his hair that feels so much like Valere. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I should have known, I should have....."

 _"Harold."_ John kisses away his words, still trembling, his emotions still raw even as Valere licks at Harold's wrist. He can feel that they want to comfort him despite their own emotions, and he lets Athenea rub up against the back of John's hand to try and return that comfort, sighing as John moves his fingers to cup her gently.

"I need you too," he says, letting his forehead rest against John's and keeping his eyes closed against the vividness of the world. None of that matters for the moment, nothing matters more than the ache of John's emotions and the trembling sense of connection he feels as he strokes his fingers through Valere's fur over and over. "I'm sorry I didn't think about you. I know you've lost as much as I. I've been so selfish - "

"Not in the least." John pulls back just enough to look at him, touch soft and gentle over Athenea's feathers. "And you're here now. Aren't you?"

"I am. I am, John. I promise."

John's smile is achingly sweet as he leans close to kiss him, as Valere wiggles into Harold's lap and cuddles up against his chest like an over-affectionate puppy. Everything about it feels so unrestrainedly _good_ that he can't help but relax into it completely, giving himself over to the warmth of John's adoration.

It's a happiness that's so bright and perfect - his own, Athenea's, compounded by what he can feel from John and Valere - that it completely eclipses the loneliness. And though he'd long ago given up on ever finding this again, Harold finally feels completely settled and at peace with himself and whole.

~~ End ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stg I fully intended to end this in hot porn. Instead, uh. I hope you have good dental 'cause this shit's cavity-inducing fluffy. Perhaps I will epilogue some smut. Or some fluffy Nathan/Harold times....


End file.
